


Worlds

by endemictoearth



Category: My Mad Fat Diary
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-26
Updated: 2016-10-26
Packaged: 2018-08-27 01:32:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8382712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/endemictoearth/pseuds/endemictoearth
Summary: This is just me having the thought one day, “What if Rae didn’t leave the hospital when Kester became her therapist? What if she stayed longer and didn’t meet everyone that day?” And then, things diverge and converge from there.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, this is something I have been working on and writing for what feels like forever, but is probably more like eight months? It is a stand-alone piece, something maybe a little bit strange. I think it’s finally done, and I know because the last time I went through it, I literally changed the last line, then immediately changed it back, so I’m just LOOKING for stuff to mess with at this point. (And the post I reblogged about fanfiction being something you share with others, but is essentially for one’s self, I just decided … it’s time!)

Chewing on the cap stuck on the back of her pen thoughtfully, Rae tapped it against her lips a moment before asking, “Tix, what’s your favorite name?”

Tix, who was drawn into a ball on the bench across the table, hunched her shoulders closer around her knees before asking back, “Boy name or girl name?”

Rae shrugged. “Either, or both. Just curious.”

“Hmmmm, well … I’m pretty partial to Rachel as a girl name …” She grinned crookedly at Rae, who rolled her eyes, but smiled in return. “And for a boyyyy, let’s see … I heard someone in the hall talking to, or maybe about, a Finn the other day, and it struck me as a nice name. So, maybe Finn?”

Rae nodded decisively. “Finn it is.” She started scribbling on the first fresh page of a new diary.

“Whadya got there?” Tix squinted at the book. “Didja fill up your old one?”

Rae shook her head. “Nah. Still got it. That one’s for them. This one’s for me.”

* * * * *

> _I stepped out into the sunshine of a brand new day. Yes, I’ve spent the last few months in a mental home, but I’ve learned a lot, become a better person, one who can face things and rise above._
> 
> _Surprisingly, Mum was bang on time picking me up, and even suggested we stop for an ice cream to celebrate my homecoming. I was good and just had a 99. It’s nice to know that I’ve learned to control my appetites and my fears._

* * * * *

_No, too much_ , Rae thought. _I haven’t, which is why I’m still here._

Earlier that day, she’d met with her new therapist, Dr. Gill. “Call me Kester,” he suggested. Rae preferred not to call him anything, but she just shrugged and nodded. She’d answer questions when asked, because it was easier. A short answer was better than a long silence.

“I’ve been talking with Dr. Khan about your progress,” he looked down at a buff file folder open on the table in front of him, flipping through a few pages of longhand notes. “She—well, we—think you could benefit from a little longer in our company.”

Rae had bitten down hard on the inside of her cheek, where a corner of the sensitive flesh had been drawn nervously between her teeth. She winced, but Kester didn’t notice. He looked up at her, with a level gaze.

“You’ve made great strides in the past four months, Rachel.”

“Rae,” she breathed in correction.

“Rae,” Kester said, eyes still observing her. “I’d just like to meet with you a few times, get to know you “beyond the file,” so to speak, before making a decision.”

Rae hugged her diary to her chest and nodded forlornly. She’d figured as much. It wasn’t a surprise, she just wondered if she’d manage to get out before her eighteenth.

“You really have come a long way, Rae,” Kester closed the file and sat back in his chair.

“Just not far enough,” she sighed. When Kester stared at her for a moment that stretched out uncomfortably. “ … yet,” she said, with a smile that felt like it might be believable.

* * * * *

“I’ve never known anyone named Finn,” Rae said to Tix as they tossed chunks of stale crust left over from lunch at the ducks. “But this guy I’ve imagined is pretty great.”

“Well, he would be, wouldn’t he?” Tix said, brushing the crumbs off her fingertips before drawing them inside her sleeves. “I mean, if you can make him into anything you want … that’s what writing stories is for, right?”

“I s’pose, but my brain has imagined some pretty terrible things, Fatty. I wouldn’t put it past me to make him into a monster. But, so far, so good.”

* * * * *

> _It was almost magic how it happened. Today, my first full day of freedom, I decided to walk into town to check out the record shop. You know, see if it was still standing after I abandoned it for nearly half a year. I was in the New Wave section, considering a second-hand reissue of ‘This Year’s Model’, and wondering if it should be in Punk. I turned to see what was hanging out in P-U-N-K when I ran smack dab into this epic slice of deliciousness._
> 
> _We both apologized, and I tried to get out of his way, but we kept dodging in the same direction. Then, I dropped my CD and we both bent down to get it and I swear we hit our heads. Just like in the movies!_
> 
> _But unlike the movies, it wasn’t cute, it was just weird. He ended up picking it up and we just stood there staring at each other for, like, an eternity. I don’t like people staring at me; it freaks me out. Finally, I just grabbed it out of his hand and said, “Thanks, sorry!” running up to the till to escape._
> 
> _I was sure that would be the end of the story, but then I ran into Chloe on the way home from the shop. She seemed happy to see me, though she said she couldn’t believe I’d been gone three months. I had to correct her. It’s been closer to six, so maybe she hadn’t been missing me too much, after all. She did invite me to the pub, and I decided to accept. I mean, I’m out and I’ve got to start interacting with people, building up my defenses again. So I said yes._
> 
> _And who do you think was at the pub? Not only there, but sat at the same table with Chloe and her new mates? The lad from the record shop of course! His name is Finn and he’s just beautiful. I’d say ’small world’ but it’s just Stamford. We’re not over-burdened with population, so we’re all cursed to keep swimming into the same fish in this tiny pond. However, after swimming into Big G and that ginger twat who sits outside the off-license all the fucking time, it’s nice to float into someone dreamy and blessedly silent …_

* * * * *

That was her biggest problem. The only teenage boy she talked to regularly … well, the only one who didn’t hurl abuse at her … was Danny. And he wasn’t exactly a paragon to model an imaginary love interest on. He certainly talked enough, but it was half nonsense. She didn’t really have a good grasp on what a boy might say to her that wasn’t either an insult or completely off-kilter.

So, even though she could have this Finn (who was in her mind a little like Damon Albarn, only taller and with brown eyes) say anything at all, he remained mostly mute in her imagination. _He must be shy,_ she thought. _Or bad with words. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. I’m quite good with words, and it’s never gotten me anywhere._

She flipped open her ‘official’ diary and scribbled half a page about what she had for lunch and feeding the ducks with Tix and Danny, then ended with “I can feel I’m getting better.” She finished nearly every entry with some variation of that sentiment, figuring if anyone ever read it, they could see she wanted to be better enough to get home.

Well, she wanted out of hospital, for sure, and home was the only place to go.

* * * * *

> _So, after not talking to me at all the last time we were at the pub, he  (you know who … Mr. Knicker-Wetter) sat next to me this time. My heart might have skipped a beat or two … But he still doesn’t say anything, just sort of looks over at me every once in a while, until like an hour goes by and guess what he does? He only goes and WRITES ON MY LEG WITH HIS FINGER. Like, I’m surprised the pub didn’t need to be evacuated for flash flooding. He just wrote two letters, and it took me a minute to realize that’s what he was doing. But he just wrote HI._
> 
> _Part of me wonders why he couldn’t have just said that with his mouth, but the rest of me is shouting at that part to shut the fuck up and let him go on touching any part of me he wants._

* * * * *

Rae put her pen down. Was that too unbelievable? That someone fit, that anyone, would touch her, just to say hello? She was trying to work out a reason for his reticence beyond her own failure of imagination. She trailed the tip of her own nail-bitten finger lightly along the worn denim covering her thigh, looping and swirling a pattern there.

Thing is, she could imagine streams of words about the music he liked and how he was learning the guitar and liked taking walks out in the fields like she did. But she couldn’t get herself to write those things down. It seemed too much, even for a flight of fancy, and she was going to have to burn this the day she got out anyway, so it didn’t really matter. This was just a distraction, a way to live the life she couldn’t until she got out.

Speaking of distractions, she picked up her Walkman and pressed play. She hummed along to “Lipstick Vogue,” singing the words “Sometimes I almost feel just like a human being …” aloud.

* * * * *

“ … you been?”

Rae snapped to attention halfway through Kester’s question and pieced it together from context. She’d walked in and sat down while Kester was at his desk, finishing up notes from the last patient, no doubt. He’d smiled at her and gestured for her to sit. “Be right with you.”

She sank into the low chair and twisted her head to look out the window. An early summer shower had popped up and she watched the drops slash against the panes of glass. Beyond the next street, she could see the sky was bright. She always marveled at that, when it rained on one street but not another right across the way. Seemed like a metaphor for something. And didn’t her uncle always say, “It’s not raining everywhere!” when something bad would happen? With weather, there always seemed to be the promise of sun … life sometimes seemed more bleak than that.

“Hmmm? Oh, good. Fine.”

Kester nodded, but his face showed skepticism.

“Oh, well. Fine as I can be in here, I guess.”

“I know it’s difficult. You want to get back to your life, and we want you to, as well, we just want to make sure you have the tools to cope once you go.”

Rae nodded. She understood, in theory, that this was for her own good. That she was here because she put herself here. And that she had to want to get better and stay better if she was ever going to get out.

“It’s just …” she started, and Kester shifted in his seat, leaning forward. “It’s a lot of time to think about stuff. And I think …” she let out a weak chuckle. “Well, thinking’s what got me in here, innit? My mind seems determined to think terrible things, and there’s so few distractions in here.”

It had taken her a couple of months to figure this out, and even longer to say it out loud.

“That’s very astute, Rae. See, we know there are more distractions in the real world, but sometimes nothing can distract you from your thoughts, and you have to deal with them. You have to tell yourself that what your brain is telling you is wrong, and figure out how to get your thoughts back on track. That’s why we have you write down your thoughts, and talk about them here and in group therapy. Get them out of your head, onto the page or somewhere where they’re not so overwhelming.”

Dr. Khan had never talked this much. She’d generally only ever nodded and said, “That’s interesting. Tell me more.”

Rae nodded again, pretending she understood.

“So, you’ve been thinking? What about?”

“Oh, just … if I ever get out of here, what my life might be like.”

“Well, first of all, you WILL get out of here …” Kester stood up to open the window. He shuffled a single cigarette out of the soft pack he kept in his shirt pocket. Rae watched him, and he caught her eye, tilting the pack in her direction in silent offer before slipping it away again when she shook her head.

He lit it and took a deep drag, exhaling out the corner of his mouth toward the open window. “What _do_ you think it’ll be like?”

Rae pursed her lips and shrugged. “I … that’s the thing. I hope it’ll be better, but I can’t see how, exactly. There’s things I want that … but I don’t think they’re realistic. So, I … I just have to figure out how to be. Since I never managed to get a handle on it before.”

“What’s not realistic?” Kester asked, flicking his ash out the window.

“Wellll … I think I’d quite like … I mean … oh, god.” She took a breath and said it quick. “I’d like a boyfriend, alright? But that’s never gonna happen.”

“Why not?”

“Well, I’m … look at me!” She left her diary in her lap and waved both hands up and down over her bulky frame.

Kester’s face wore a smile that asked, “I am … Why not?”

“I’m fat! And ugly. And too quiet, until I talk, and then I’m too loud.”

Kester didn’t deny or confirm any of her claims. Instead, he just asked, “Why do you want a boyfriend?”

She hadn’t been expecting that question. Clearing her throat, she said, “I … doesn’t everyone? It’s … meeting someone who just really likes you … even loves you … someone who cares … isn’t that what we all want?”

Kester shrugged this time. “Maybe. Many people, certainly. But some people might be driven by other desires.” He took another drag. “Okay, besides a boyfriend, what else are you hoping for when you leave here?”

Rae pursed her lips and thought.

* * * * *

> _I’ll never forget the way he said it. “I just really like you, Rae.” He LIKES me. ME. And then he hugged me for ever such a long time. Until I hugged him back. (I’m not the best at hugging, to be honest.) I haven’t the heart to tell him about hospital, but I know I’ll have to._
> 
> _He didn’t kiss me though. I’ve tried to imagine how our first kiss will be so many times, but my mind isn’t helping me out on this one. I can picture the scene, what I’m wearing, what he’s wearing, our faces moving closer and closer together, but when it comes time for the lip lock, my brain gets all fuzzy._
> 
> _Maybe he won’t even try._

* * * * *

As she suspected, her brain was crapping out on her. She’d imagined kissing every member of Oasis, Blur and Pulp, Mr. Carrisford, Dr. Nick, and that orderly with the tattoos who worked weekends. Why couldn’t she make a completely made up boy kiss her?

She threw her pen down in disgust and stood up to walk over to the window. Her window overlooked the small car park and side entrance to the hospital. She gazed out, then down, and saw a boy in a leather jacket walking toward the door. He had a scooter helmet in one hand and was fixing his golden brown fringe with the other. Rae narrowed her eyes to get a better look at his face. _He has nice lips_ , she thought, _And a strong jaw. He’s just … really fucking beautiful._

She thought back to her diary. All those rock stars she’d imagined kissing; she’d seen those faces a lot. The bloke she made up in her head … he was just an amalgamation of parts. And she could imagine an eye or his lips, but never the whole package put together. Now … could she? Did she dare? She could just imagine that boy from outside her window …

Lying back on her bed, she closed her eyes and let her mind wander. And, this time, the boy in her mind looked into her eyes, raised his luxurious eyebrows, and leaned in to press his mouth tenderly to her own, his lips lingering for a tantalizing moment before her eyes popped open and he winked out of existence.

*

That night, she went to bed early, hoping to dream of him.

She did.

* * * * *

The next day at lunch, Danny slid into a spot on the bench next to Tix, set down his tray on the cafeteria table, and waggled his eyebrows significantly at Rae.

“What, Danny?”

“Oh, nothin’.” He picked up his ham sandwich (which he ate three times a day) and took a big bite, a glob of bright yellow mustard oozing out the side. Around the bite, he asked, “So, how’s your boyfriend, Rae?”

Her eyes widened and she jerked her head to look at Tix in disbelief. “I can’t believe you told him!”

Tix looked down at her plate guiltily. “Sorry, Skinny. I just … nothin’ ever goes on in here. He asked me what was new, an’ … that was the only thing that was. New.”

Rae rolled her eyes, but she knew the power of a novelty in this place. She couldn’t be angry at Tix for wanting to say anything different, something novel.

Pursing her lips in Danny’s direction, she took the bait. “He’s fine, Danny.” After she’d chewed and swallowed a bite of turkey and gravy, she raised an eyebrow. “How’s your girlfriend?”

Danny’s eyes grew wide.

Tix blushed down at her mostly empty tray.

Rae grinned and took another bite.

* * * * *

The days and weeks passed without much to distinguish them. Rae got a bit bored of her dueling diaries, but kept scribbling in them, as much out of habit as anything.

Another Thursday, Rae’s favorite routine. She finished Tix’s crusts while they watched The Big Breakfast. Then they went to group, and later, she, Tix, Danny _and_ his two hats signed out to go to the duck pond and play ten questions.

They were lined up on a bench feeding the birds the rest of Tix’s toast. Rae bit her tongue, but she desperately wished Tix didn’t want to disappear so badly.

She and Tix were contemplating Danny’s query: _Would you rather stay in hospital forever and be mostly okay, or go home and be mostly not okay?_ when suddenly, someone stumbled out of one of the hospital doors. A boy, their age. Actually, it was _the_ boy. The boy in the leather jacket whom Rae had appropriated for her fantasies. Right now, though, he wasn’t cool and mysterious; he was crying and upset.

Rae and Tix looked at each other, wide-eyed. Rae still hadn’t told her friend that her mystery man was based on this real life specimen.

He dragged himself over to the edge of the pond, not far from where they were, and stared into the murky green water, his eyes red and running.

Tix nodded at Rae with big eyes, clearly imploring her to say something, to go over and offer a word of comfort. Rae knew that if she didn’t, Tix wouldn’t. And anything Danny said was bound to make things worse.

The poor boy just seemed so wretched.

Rae rose from the bench reluctantly, and took a few steps toward him, looking back at Tix with an expression of agitated confusion. She didn’t know how to talk to boys who _weren’t_ silently sobbing; what were the odds she’d figure out how to say the right thing to one who was so clearly devastated?

She was now just a couple of feet away, but she didn’t glance back at Tix again. Instead, she took a deep breath and preemptively winced as she reached out to lightly touch his forearm. He started at her unexpected touch. She apologized, “I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened, but you’re obviously really upset. I just wanted to say that, whatever’s the matter … I’m sorry.”

The boy turned his face to see who it was touching him and talking to him. His fringe was tousled; his warm brown eyes were bloodshot and wet with tears. He pulled his arm away from her touch, but it wasn’t to recoil, it was to wipe the back of his hand under his nose, which was running from all the crying. Even in this state, he was beautiful. Rae felt terrible for thinking that, and took a step back.

With a broken voice, he croaked, “It’s me nan. She died in the middle of the night, but I weren’t at home. I were at some stupid party. Me dad’s away, too. He—we thought she were getting better. She were sitting up and chatting yesterday, seemed her old self. Even the nurse … she said he’d probably be alright to leave for a couple of days for work.”

Rae felt a rush of genuine affection for this shattered boy in front of her. She’d imagined all sorts, but not that he was really real, with a family and feelings and now that this had happened, it was like a spell had been broken, or that she’d woken from a dream. However, it wasn’t bad; it was humbling. She didn’t feel equal to the task of comforting him, but it appears she was his only option at the moment.

“Oh, shit,” she breathed. “I’m so sorry. I know I said … but that’s … shit.”

Rae raised the same hand she’d lightly touched to his forearm to rub his shoulder in what she hoped was a comforting manner. It was automatic, and she scanned him for signs that she should stop, but instead, he twisted his body towards hers, pulled himself flush against her, and held on tight.

For a moment, shock prevented her from returning the embrace, but when she felt a sob wrack through his chest, she put her arms around him and hugged him back, finding her other hand naturally started to rub circles in the center of his back. As he snuffled into her neck, and gripped harder into the hug, Rae could only murmur a litany of apologies and platitudes into the crook of his neck.

It seemed that in this moment, the universe was reduced down to the points where they were connected. Where she and this boy she’d never met, she didn’t really know at all, despite all her imaginings, were clinging onto one another for dear life. She didn’t feel mad in the moment, or fat, or unpopular, or any of the things that seemed to define her. She just held on, because it was what this stranger seemed to need.

Eventually, he pulled away, muttering an apology of his own. “Shit, I’m so sorry. And I got … stuff all over your shirt.” He gestured to the collar of her t-shirt.

She shook her head. “Don’t worry about that,” she said. She glanced at where Tix had been sitting, to see if her friend was still there. She wasn’t. “Do you want to sit down?” she held a hand out toward the empty wooden bench.

The boy nodded his head erratically and lurched toward the seat.

“Have you called your dad?” she asked as he collapsed.

He shook his head. “He’s in meetings most of the day; I don’t know how to get ahold of him.”

Rae perched next to him, fidgeting her hands in her lap. “Could you call the hotel or … wherever … and leave a message?”

He looked up, a mixture of misery and wonder in his eyes. “That’s a good idea. I should probably go home … he might call to see … how … she’s do—“ He broke up into another round of sobbing. Rae teared up herself at the thought that his father likely had no idea that his mother had died. She cried at the thought of someone her age having to be the bearer of such terrible news to their parent.

“I … didn’t … mean … to make … you cry,” he shuddered out the words when he noticed her tears.

“For fuck’s sake, don’t worry about it,” she admonished, wide-eyed and wiping a tear.

Maybe it was the surprise of her cursing or the way her eyes bugged out of their sockets, but the boy actually smiled at her. A thin, watery smile, but it was a glimmer of light in a very dark moment.

He looked down at his lap. “Could you … this is …” He huffed a sigh. “Do you think you could come with me, when I call?”

Rae’s heart twisted in her chest. Because she really wanted to be there to help him as he broke the news to his dad. But, unless he was calling from the hospital … she couldn’t. She was still locked up, and it was her fault. It was her fault that the first time anyone had ever needed her, she couldn’t be there for them.

She reached over to grab his hand. “I’d be … God, I wish I could. Fuck, I …” She’d been crying before, but now she started in earnest.

It was then that he spotted it. He didn’t let go of her hand, but his other hand reached over and his forefinger traced her hospital wristband. “Oh, no …  I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked. I hope I … don’t worry. Please. I’ll be fine.”

As he stood up, he squeezed her hand once more, and then slipped free. He whispered “Thanks” before turning around and going back inside the hospital to leave.

Rae watched him go.

When the door swung closed behind him, she started, as if waking from a dream. Maybe that’s what it had been. She blinked, and twisted to look back at where Tix had been sitting, but her friend had gone. There was no one in sight. She suddenly felt jittery, anxious to be back inside, with other people. She felt that if she sat alone with her thoughts for too long, if she analyzed the moment she’d just had too closely, it wouldn’t be good.

Back inside, Tix wasn’t in her room. Rae waited a few moments, perched on the desk chair, but the pastel perfection soon became intimidating, and she escaped to her own room.

She opened her top right desk drawer, where her two diaries rested on top of one another. She pulled them out and carefully placed them side by side on the fake woodgrain laminate of the cheap desk, squaring the bottom edges along the metal lip of the desktop. Nervously, she tugged on the ribbon bookmark sticking out of the bottom of her fake journal, flipping it back and forth between her fingertips.

Where did this go? In which book? It hadn’t seemed real. And _he_ had been there. The literal boy of her dreams.

When she stopped fidgeting with the ribbon, she realized her core was still vibrating on a low frequency. She could still feel his arms clinching around her waist; well, on what on normal girls a waist would be. Slowly, inside the residual buzz from physical contact with a beautiful boy, a feeling of queasy shame bubbled up. If someone, if Kester had asked why she felt this way … she wouldn’t have been able to articulate it. Something about feeling bad that she was the one he was left with in such a terrible time. Something about being too much and not enough all at once, right then, and all the time. And even that wasn’t exactly it.

A cold chill followed by a hot flush rippled through her, through the same core that had felt so much in such a short time. She shook her head, grabbed both books, and shoved them back into the drawer, sprinkling empty sweets wrappers over them.

It would live in her head. For as long as she could remember it.

* * * * *

Tix didn’t ask Rae about what happened. She didn’t mention it at all.

For that, Rae was unutterably grateful.

At group, Danny told a joke about frogs that confused everyone.

At dinner, Tix snuck her syrup sponge onto Rae’s tray.

That night, Rae turned her walkman volume up two extra notches, to fill her mind with music as she fell asleep.

* * * * *

Days passed. Rae wondered which day was the funeral. Her eyes filled with tears, as she wished she could go and stand next to him, hold his hand, let him squeeze her fingers as hard as he needed to. Then she shook her head in anger, angry at herself for allowing such a fancy. She didn’t even know his name. More proof that she was locked away where she belonged.

She forgot to seem cheerful in her next session with Kester. It was raining again, and she silently wished she were made of candy floss, so she could walk out into the downpour and dissolve into nothing. That would be a good way to go.

Most of the session passed in silence, and then Kester said, “You got a phone call earlier today, when you were in group.”

Rae’s eyebrows lifted a millimeter or two. “What did she want?”

“Who?” Kester asked.

“My mum,” Rae said, as if it were obvious that was the only person who could be calling her.

“Oh, it wasn’t her. It was a young man. Said he needed to talk to you, and that he’d call back at a more convenient time.” Kester moved to the window, but seeing the raindrops were still splashing down, put his pack of cigarettes back in his shirt pocket.

“What? When?” The words came out sharp with panic.

Kester sat down opposite Rae, and flashed her smile that was no doubt meant to reassure her. “The nurse who answered looked up your schedule and told him he could call between 3:00 and 3:30. After your session—after this.”

Rae couldn’t figure out how he knew who she was. She hadn’t told him her name; she hadn’t gotten his. Did he just describe her to a nurse? Every descriptor she could think of to fit her appearance made her cringe. She imagined a nurse holding her hand over the mouthpiece of the phone to giggle to her friend about this poor kid wanting to talk to the fat lass in the mental ward. Her heart seemed to migrate north until it felt like it was beating in her throat, faster and faster.

Kester leaned forward, then crouched closer to perch on the edge of the low chair. He reached out to lightly touch the back of her hand. “Rae, try to calm down. Take a breath. You don’t have to talk to him if you don’t want to.”

His touch did relax her the smallest bit. It brought her back to the moment, to the room where she was. Physical reminders helped to pull her out of her head, where things were likely to spiral into disaster.

It was him. She knew it was. The boy. _The_ boy. It had to be him. She wanted to hear his voice, even though she had no idea what she’d say to him. So, she shook her head and lied a little. “No, it’s okay. I just … I thought it might be someone else, but I think I know … he’s a friend.”

* * * * *

It was 3:03.

Rae sat in the common room, next to the telephone. She fidgeted with her sleeves, then turned to pick up a magazine she’d already read to distract herself. There could be 27 more minutes of this, she was going to go crazier than she was.

The next moment, the phone rang.

Rae stared at it while it rang two more times, then cautiously lifted the receiver to her ear, once again unsure which reality she was living in. It had to be him; there wasn’t anyone else it could be.

“Hello?” She heard her voice as he must have, small and far-away. Disembodied, like she wished she was.

“Hi, Rachel?” It was. Him.

Before she could stop herself: “It’s Rae.”

“Oh, sorry.”

“No, it’s alright.”

Silence.

Rae squeezed her eyes shut and tried to picture him and where he might be. Was he at home? In his kitchen? In his _bedroom_? In a phone booth on the street? She couldn’t form the words to ask, because she wasn’t sure she actually wanted to know.

In writing about the amalgam she’d created, she’d thought so much about how she would feel, about how he would make her feel, but she never stopped to think how this boy would feel about her. She just imagined him kissing her and holding her hand and telling her she was great, but there was never a thought as to _why_ he would do those things. Why any boy, real or imaginary, would do them.

But now, faced (more or less) with a real boy, one she couldn’t write dialogue or stage directions for, she felt like slamming down the receiver, then running as far and as fast as she could.

“How are you?” His question caught her off guard. She floundered, still silent. After another moment: “Is it okay that I’m calling?”

Rae nodded absent-mindedly. Then she asked a question of her own. “How did … how’d you know … me? My name, I mean?”

He cleared his throat into the mouthpiece, transmitting his nerves over the fiberoptic cables. “I … saw it on your bracelet. Your … hospital tag thing.”

“Oh. That.” She closed her eyes again, but this time imagined herself nowhere. Just floating in a mass of dark black space that went on forever.

“Yeah, and I just wanted to say thanks. Thanks for … being there. The other day, in the garden.”

She opened her eyes at that.

“Oh, well … that’s no problem. It wasn’t—“

“Yes, it was.”

“Oh.”

Rae wanted to close her eyes again, but she just blinked instead.

The silence stretched over the line, but it felt less oppressive, less strained.

“Y’know, you know my name, but I still don’t know yours.”

“Finn.” It came quickly, and Rae wasn’t sure if he said it, or her mind filled in the gap.

“What was that?” she asked; her heart suddenly pounding.

“My name is Finn. Finn Nelson.”

She didn’t reply, didn’t think she could reply.

After a long while, the same voice, the voice she couldn’t manage to make say anything in her head, said, “Is everything alright? Are you still there?”

She started and smiled. The eyes she’d squeezed shut relaxed and softened; light crept in to a corner of the inky blackness. Then, finally, she opened her eyes and replied, “Yeah, sorry. I’m here. Everything’s fine.”

A breath, a blink.

“You seem like a Finn, actually.”

*


End file.
